


The Better to Smell You With

by sarriathmg



Series: Whumptober/Noncontober/Ten Trails Whump challenge 2020 [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catherine is not a good parent, Child Abuse, Dick is a little creepy, Dick is the Big Bad Wolf, Halloween, Hurt Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jason Todd Whump, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Stalking, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarriathmg/pseuds/sarriathmg
Summary: Jason has enough headaches in his life; the bruises and cuts able to speak for themselves.Then, his world gets turned upside-down when suddenly he finds himself stalked by a shapeshifter, who hides in the shadows and follows him home seven days a week. Always hidden. Always watching.—In this tale, Jason Todd plays the role of Little Red Riding Hood and the role of the Big Bad Wolf is played by Dick Grayson.Happy early Halloween—also written for Whumptober day 18 prompt: Paranoia.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Other(s)
Series: Whumptober/Noncontober/Ten Trails Whump challenge 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953412
Comments: 5
Kudos: 116
Collections: Bottom Jason Todd Halloween Challenge 2020





	1. What Big Eyes You Have!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [🐐[kinky art galore] Jason Todd in various AUs🐰](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011162) by [sarriathmg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarriathmg/pseuds/sarriathmg). 



> Warnings are in the tags, let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Happy early Halloween! This is going to be sorta a modern retelling of the Little Red Riding Hood tale. It's all I'm gonna say for now to keep the story interesting.
> 
> Written for Whumptober day 18 prompt: Paranoia.

“Hey, kid!”

  
  


Jason’s body stiffens, arms locking up around the paper bag that holds his cheap groceries.

  
  


He turns towards the voice, pulling the hood on his jacket lower to cover the bruises and slash wounds on his face.

  
  


He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. It was meant to be “get the supplies and go home”. Do not attract attention. Don’t talk to strangers. Don't ya bring attention to yourself, _now, don't wanna forget this, do ya, kid?_

  
  


_No, sir. I won't… I swear._

  
  


The man is just leaving the store. Jason shrinks deeper into his hoodie, shoulders tensing and hands fisting up around the bag in a learned fight-or-flight response. Many signs are pointing to trouble and he is hating it through every fiber of his being.

  
  


For starters, the man doesn’t have any groceries with him despite having just left the shop. He’s not here for the milk and eggs. A dealer perhaps? Those are pretty common around here and they especially look for kids like him, vulnerable ones that are cut off from society, who are clearly victims of abuse and looking for outlets. Pimps, kidnappers, just straight-up bullies who get their kicks out of beating up people like Jason? Or worse, social service workers, thinking they know what is best for him when they clearly don’t.

  
  


Jason looks up at the man, who is stopping in front of him just now, and is suddenly taken aback by how nice and clean the guy looks. The stranger is in his mid-twenties and has straight, black hair parted on one side. Sky-blue eyes peer out of handsome eyebrows, looking like sapphires under the sunlight. The way he smiles makes something in Jason flutter.

  
  


The man looks so nice, in fact, that Jason briefly wonders why he hasn’t been mugged yet. It’s not good to dress so nicely in this part of the city. His jacket alone must be worth more than what Jason lives on for an entire year.

  
  


“Hey,” the strange man smiles, and Jason is almost blinded by how white and shiny his teeth are. The way he smiles is full of sunshine and tricks. Jason won’t be falling for them.

  
  


“What?” Jason bites back, deadpanning without the slightest hint of emotion in his voice.

  
  


“I’ve often seen you around,” the guy says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Live around here? Where’s your family, kid?”

  
  


If everything else isn’t already making him suspicious, these questions surely do the job, and Jason bristles as he involuntarily bares his teeth in a silent hiss.

  
  


“Not your problem,” he bites out. “Who are you?”

  
  


“Just a friendly neighbor,” the man leans down, his eyes flashing and the corner of his lips pulling up to a smirk, hiding mischief just beneath the surface. “I remember that jacket anywhere, it sure is a _memorable_ shade of red. Where is your home, Little Red?”

  
  


Jason stares up at him, at the handsome sculpted face, at the curved lips, and the mischievous grin in his sky-blue eyes. Outstandingly beautiful, definitely not anyone Jason would expect to be a thug or a dealer. But what is the deal? Why would anyone else talk to someone like him if that’s the case? Jason has his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted in preparation to start his rebuttal. But he forgets what he wanted to say, trapped in those blown pupils of the man’s.

  
  


The eyes are captivatingly nice-looking, sunlight seeking through the dark lashes like liquid gold, and the depth of the irises reminds Jason of the ocean, of light filtering through the topmost layer of saltwater and the mystical dances of jellyfish. Even the enlarged pupils bring out an unexpected kind of sexiness that Jason cannot look away from.

  
  


But then, there’s a slight hue shift in the eyes. Rings of green-browns around the iris, colors briefly shifting and slightly tinting the whites. The greens change even more until Jason swears he can see the light of the sun shining into a field of amber, and for a fraction of a second, the wide black pupils shrink into two tiny pinpricks of dots.

  
  


Jason’s body tenses in shock and a wave of fear and paranoia swallows him whole.

  
  


_A shapeshifter._ A canine breed—likely a wolf or a coyote—from the looks of it.

  
  


They are rare. One usually only encounters one only once or twice a year. Let alone meeting one as part of their daily lives, just hanging about in their neighborhoods. Jason had seen only a few in his life, one of whom was among Catherine’s dealers.

  
  


_And Jason remembers the smell of smoke and beer and cocaine, and the revolting scent of sweat-stained clothes unwashed for weeks as the tiny man had crowded in from behind him. His trousers were halfway down his legs, hairy calves pressed against a younger Jason’s as he’d bent him over the counter. The thick, coarse hairs of an animal had grown out of the skin on his torso, arms, and the backs of his hands. His claws had closed in on Jason’s shoulders, tearing up his shirt and carving bloody wounds into his skin as he held onto him for the heinous act. The screeching, ear-piercing, grotesque cackles of the spotted hyena had overshadowed the sound of Jason’s cries, shrieking like nails to a chalkboard-_

  
  


“Hey, kid!”

  
  


Jason snaps from his flashback and looks up at the stranger, now looking completely human with his eyes back to normal, blue, smiling so sincerely down at him it makes Jason’s skin crawl with uneasiness.

  
  


No one can be trusted. The reason anyone would be good to him is that they want something, and Jason can take a wild guess at what that thing might be.

  
  


Jason can’t help but recall the stories he’d heard when he was little, when Willis was still at home often enough and Catherine wasn’t as stoned as she was now. They would read stories to him—fairytales, urban legends—of how this friend of theirs had had an unpleasant run-in with a shapeshifter— _Jason, we cannot trust them. Feline breeds are wild and selfish creatures, but canines can be just as unpredictable. Don’t just look at one and think of the friendly alley dog you went to pet that one time—they are pack animals, ruled by their bestial instincts._

  
  


And now, looking up at the man's seemingly friendly face, at his carved jawline and golden-hued skin, Jason is ever more cautious. The pretty man is probably thinking of stabbing him and leaving him in a ditch somewhere. Or pimping him out, trying to use him to deal drugs to the kids. The shapeshifter is up to something. The possibilities are endless, and Jason doesn’t like a single one of them.

  
  


“Don’t look so tense, kid,” the shapeshifter tries to get him to relax with a warm smile again and, despite how handsome he looks and how much his friendly exterior makes Jason dazed for a moment, Jason just can’t but see through to that facade. The young man wants nothing but trouble, and Jason needs to think smart if he wants to get out of this.

  
  


“I’m not tense,” Jason shoots back, “stop asking me questions, will you? I don’t know you.”

  
  


“Aww,” the man says, genuinely looking hurt by this comment. “Can’t we be friends? I think you’re a good kid, Little Red.”

  
  


“You don’t even know me,” Jason furrows his brows, “and there’s no way I’m going to tell you anything. You should stop asking.”

  
  


“Really?” The man’s eyes narrow. “Is there _no way_ to get you to talk?”

  
  


There’s a cold current running down Jason’s back and he shivers all over. He sees something dark through those azure eyes, and Jason soon realizes there is a kind of dimness hiding behind the beautiful stranger’s relaxed surface, turbulent and cold.

  
  


“Stop following me,” Jason says, trying to sound hostile to hide the prickle of fear and paranoia tainting his skin. He turns to leave immediately after, balancing the groceries on his hips, a few apples rolling around in the paper bag.

  
  


“See you around, then,” the Big Bad Wolf says from behind him, “Little Red.”

  
  


Jason doesn’t reply. He simply walks as fast as he can.

  
  


+++

  
  


Jason remembers the story of Lot’s wife, looking behind her at the fire and brimstones and punished by turning into a pillar of salt.

  
  


He feels like her right now, knowing the shapeshifter’s eyes are boring into his back yet it’s like his head and neck are nailed to his shoulders, mechanical limbs carrying him onwards, using everything he’s got to try and not turn back and look. Jason keeps on walking, even when he turns the corner, walking far enough for him to be certain that the stranger can no longer see him.

  
  


It’s almost October now and the red jacket he wears is getting insufficient in keeping out the cold. Halloween is near, and after which it’d be time for Thanksgiving. Then another month it’d be time for Christmas. None of which are particular things to look forward to.

  
  


Jason’s skin prickles with goosebumps as if there are touches of spider legs on his flesh. He keeps his head low and his hood covering his forehead, hiding the bruises and the black eye, his groceries tucked as close to his body as possible. His eyes dart around at the lone figures hanging about the bad neighborhood, knives twisting in their hands and bodies covered in various lewd tattoos, eyes landing on him that revealed nothing but mockery and schemes. Jason has been living in Crime Alley long enough to figure out what the resident thugs are thinking by simply reading their eyes.

  
  


Except, he couldn’t read the shapeshifter’s eyes. The man was beautiful and looked nothing but genuine, and even if Jason knew he was up to no good, he didn’t have enough evidence to accuse him. Jason preens at the friendliness the man showed him, even if it was faked to get whatever he wanted. Where Jason was born and raised, no one ever bothered to hide their true intentions with him. It’s not like they couldn’t get away with murder.

  
  


Jason thinks that he liked the shapeshifter despite everything. It doesn’t mean anything, anyway, because even if he sees him again it’s not like Jason will fall victim to whatever game he plays. Jason knows better than to trust strangers.

  
  


Jason’s home is in the cheapest rented place at the back of the alley, where it was paid with whatever scrap they can gather up for that month. The entrance is hidden behind a giant garbage can, the smell of which has finally lightened up after the summer has ended. The pavement is littered with trash and mud, slightly damp from the earlier rain. The place smells like a mix of smoke and sewage, not the best place to grow up in, certainly not the place that inspires a sense of safety in the heart of its children.

  
  


Jason balances the groceries on one side of his hips and reaches inside his pocket for his key. He fumbles for a bit, feels the cool metal between his fingers, then takes it out. Jason climbs the stairs of the apartment, his small form wobbling in the dim hallway as he clumsily makes his way to the door. The place smells like cocaine and old paint and the mildew that grew out of the lingering dampness. His door is old and made of moldy wood, with the handle barely functional. Jason holds his groceries with one hand and inserts his key, putting in a lot more effort than he should to get the rusty installation turning. The lock finally clicks open and Jason wobbles inside, pulling out the key in the process.

  
  


A fume of odor—a mixture of drugs, beer, and cigarettes—invades his nostrils. Jason barely scrunches up his nose, more than used to it by now. He cautiously puts the bag down on an old second-hand table near the door and surveys the room, body tensing up as a learned behavior, looking for the predator.

  
  


The voice comes to him before he sees the man, and the entirety of Jason’s back tenses up at the sound of:

  
  


“What took you so long, twerp?”

  
  


Jason’s neck feels like rusty screws when he forcibly twists it to look at the tall, bulky man coming out of the bedroom. Big Bill’s mouth is downturned, his unhappiness clear to all with the ginger sideburns framing the nasty frown of his.

  
  


Jason opens up to speak, but he only successes in stuttering out, “I- uh-”

  
  


His words are briefly cut off when Bill starts to approach him, finishing up the can of beer he’s been drinking and throws the empty packaging aside, letting it land haphazardly on the wooden floor with a dull thud. Standing close, Big Bill is huge and looms over Jason, like a bear standing over a squirrel, and he yelps in surprise when a large-knuckled hand comes down to pull at his hair, inserting itself at the back of his head and pushing down his hood in the process as he forces him to tilt his face upwards. Jason hisses in pain.

  
  


“What’s that, kid?”

  
  


Jason looks up and sees the man’s sneering visage staring down at him. His breath smells like alcohol and the proximity is making him more than just a little uncomfortable. Jason bites his lip and replies, “Nothing, Big Bill.”

  
  


“What did we say you should do when I asked you a question, huh?”

  
  


Jason’s eyes drop to the floor in a learned show of submission, then he speaks out, “That I answer immediately and truthfully.”

  
  


“ _That_ you do.”

  
  


Jason barely flinches at the sarcastic and obscene tone. He breathes, “Just some guy asking weird questions. I don’t know him.”

  
  


“What did ’e say?”

  
  


“Asking where I live. I don’t know, he’s weird.”

  
  


He hisses again as the hand suddenly lets go of his hair. Bill turns back, snatching the bag of groceries off of the table.

  
  


“Probably some punk looking to take over the Big Hunter’s territory- ya got the beer and the cupcakes?”

  
  


The man croaks out, reaching into the bag to rummage through its content. Before Jason can answer him, the man is already taking out a can of beer and a box of sweets. He puts the bag down onto the old table and retrieves a sugary treat out of the box. He studies it first, not hurrying to consume it, eyebrows raised in contemplation.

  
  


“Halloween is near, ya know what that means?”

  
  


Jason tucks his hands inside the pocket in front of his hoodie and kicks out his foot nervously, There are sounds of music blasting from the next room, and above him, the sound of a constantly creaking bed can be heard loudly, drowning out his thoughts.

  
  


“Candy and kids?” He answers.

  
  


“It means t’s hunting season again,” Big Bill corrects him, speaking slowly, like to a child too dumb to understand, before stuffing the entire cupcake into his mouth, chewing loudly, his lips and teeth coated with icing. Jason shrinks from the sight.

  
  


“You’ll not be using me to give laced candy to kids again,” Jason answers flatly, leaving no room for argument.

  
  


He barely has time to flinch before Big Bill’s eyes suddenly land on him, and before Jason can run away, the dealer is walking fast-paced towards him. A giant hand closes on Jason’s upper arm and yanks him towards the man. Before Jason knows it, his arm is being twisted in such a way that he hears a _crack_ in between his muted cries of agony.

  
  


Jason’s eyes flash a bright white and he sobs as the searing pain shooting across him like an inferno. Then, he is being dragged by his broken arm and tossed onto the messy and stained sofa. He lands and bounces, immediately curling up into the shape of a ball, cradling his injured arm into him.

  
  


Big Bill is standing over him, a huge shape casting a shadow that devours Jason like a beast in the night, all too eager to drag him into the dark of the forest for consumption.

  
  


There is no time to cower or to run. Jason knows wherever he goes he will always be hunted down. Big Bill is grinning down at him, and Jason knows that smile way too familiar to feel scared. He is simply numb.

  
  


“Big talker, kid, got all strong on me, did ya?”

  
  


Bill says, and Jason shivers from his words. The man doesn’t sound mad. It’s quite the contrary, he sounds _interested._

  
  


Jason doesn’t answer. He hugs himself closer, tucking his knees into his chest, trying his best to force down his whimper.

  
  


“Ya need a good lesson now,” the dealer then says.

  
  


Jason flinches as soon as the man starts to take off his shirt and crawls onto the sofa with him, the furniture dipping with his weight. Jason tries to struggle a little when his ankles are suddenly grabbed and his legs pulled out. He tries to kick, but the effort is more half-assed than anything. He simply _lets_ the man crawl on top of him, hand on either side of his head.

  
  


Bill is tugging the red hoodie off of Jason now. Jason doesn’t struggle, knowing it won’t do him any good. The jacket briefly catches on his broken arm and causes another wave of pain to shoot through him. Jason hisses in pain, which Bill barely notices. He tugs the thing off the boy’s lean and malnourished torso hastily and tosses it aside, action rough.

  
  


Jason lets him do it, and lets him pull his pants off of him as well. There will not be enough preparation, not enough lubricant to get him through this ordeal. Yet, he doesn’t try to prevent what’s being done to him. Just taking it, _like what you’re meant to do, slut. This is all that you’re good for. Be thankful you can at least be useful in_ something.

  
  


“Now, be quiet, little one,” the big man’s mouth stretches from ear to ear, menace pouring out of him like waves and drowning Jason in it. “Ya don’t wanna wake up mommy sleeping in the next room, do ya?”

  
  


Jason shuts his eyes and bears, falling into the safety of his mind-space like he always did during these times, and wishes that it’ll all be over soon.


	2. Such a Big Snout You Have!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason confronts his stalker on the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to go back and comment on everything since I've been busy with Kinktober art (and my inbox was so full I sometimes can't remember which fics got new comments), but I received all your wonderful comments, and they are all greatly appreciated! Thanks to everyone who commented, you make me strong💖
> 
> Now, onto the fic: Is it too late for more stalkerish creepiness?
> 
> I've hit a bit of a writer's block for this fic when I was working on my other ones, but it will be finished.
> 
> Been busy working on my Batfam Kinkmas exchange stuff and Dickjay Week entries (interested in participating? [Check it out here](https://dickjayweek.tumblr.com/tagged/DJWrules)!), and didn't have much time to work on other things. But I am trying hard to balance things out!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this somewhat!

Something has been following him.

  
  


Jason thought he was going crazy at first. It couldn’t have been anything that existed outside of his head. The echoes of footsteps behind him when he’d walked down the alley, the strange light that briefly flashed once when he’d peeked out the window at night. He noticed, and he’d always stopped to listen or to look. But whenever he did, the sound would stop and whatever shadows or forms he’d seen with his peripherals would dissipate or prove to be nothing but inanimate objects that had always existed on his path home.

  
  


But then there were the physical signs. Jason came back to the same alleys he walked only moments before and found shoe prints right behind the ones he’d left. Someone had broken into the little hideout where he kept his books and his tires. It was a careful job. The lock cautiously picked, and the books looked at. Nothing was taken, and the perpetrator had tried to arrange the items back to where they were before. But Jason was too sharp to not notice the little inch that _Oliver Twist_ had moved, or that his old pocket copy of _Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ had been sitting on top of _Pride and Prejudice_ instead of under it.

  
  


One morning when Jason slid out of the door to their stinky apartment, he’d found a note and a bottle of Tylenol at the foot of the door. The note said “Take it” in a messy handwriting. He didn’t want to think what it meant, nor was he dumb enough to touch what’s inside, no matter how badly the broken arm was hurting and keeping him awake at night. Jason hadn’t thrown the bottle away, however. He’d kept it with the rest of his hoarded scraps in the little hideout of his and had stowed it safely under the old futon he’d scavenged.

  
  


Jason’s paranoia is destroying him. And even with the old bat he’d found near a dumpster to arm himself, he’d never felt safe. There was always a shadow that followed him, anytime, everywhere. Like a ghost.

  
  


Jason has tried to lose the tail a few times, tried to go on different detours of his usual path home to throw the pursuer off, but it never seems to work. Whoever the stalker is he seems to be able to smell him out no matter where he is. It’s like Jason has nowhere to run, and, with his broken arm, it’d be idiotic to confront them.

  
  


Whoever he is, he knows where he lives and his habits. He knows where his little hiding place is and what his schedules are like. It’s like the stalker understands Jason more than he himself does, watching from the shadows quietly. Waiting. _Prancing._

  
  


It gets more anxious as time goes on. Big Bill had left the day after he’d broken Jason’s arm and took him on the sofa, satisfied with his service and claiming it’d earn him another few days of quiet, (until Catherine finishes with her current stack and needs to call him up again). Jason hopes his arm can heal before the next incident. He doesn’t want to think about other headaches. He can almost forget the stalking, too, if it isn’t for the constant gifts the creepy bastard keeps leaving at his door or the signs he has been touching Jason’s things.

  
  


The bottle of painkillers has only been the first. The second was a box of cotton swabs and a tub of vaseline. The third a couple of cassette tapes, made up of the recordings of a calming male voice reading the classic _Frankenstein._

  
  


Then, the cherry on top—his clean clothes ruffled and disorganized at the laundry after he only briefly left the store for half a minute. When Jason came back to his basket, it had been messed with. The culprit hadn’t stolen or destroyed anything, other than a dented concave at the top where it looked like someone had smashed their face in the pack of clothes to smell it.

  
  


Jason had inspected all the articles in that basket and made sure nothing went missing. None was out of the ordinary, other than a lone piece of hair. It had been about a finger’s length, grey at the tip and white at the base. It had been the hair of an animal.

  
  


Jason stopped going to the laundromats after that.

  
  


There have been no letters left for him other than the occasional notes that had said “take it” or “enjoy”. It’s almost like a wordless game, like an unwilling play of hide-and-seek with a psychopath. Jason doesn’t want to be part of it. Not one bit.

  
  


The game had gone on for weeks, and Jason had lied awake in his bed, worried that he might hear a sound at the door or outside of the window. The stalker could come any minute during the day or during the night, watching or listening to him sleeping in silence, his— _its—_ nose hanging over his window and ears picking up the sound of his breaths.

  
  


Then Jason would shudder all over again, remembering the hair he had found in his laundry. Grey. Not a human’s.

  
  


It can’t go on like this, Jason thinks his dark fantasies alone will drive him mad. Anything is better than the constant fear, the terrifying reality of the stalker’s dark intentions. Jason wants a flip of their fucked up power dynamic, wants to be the one calling the shots instead of waiting to be the victim once again. He wants to confront the beast.

  
  


It isn’t easy, because the beast doesn’t want to be seen. It follows him around and watches, a pair of eyes glowing and a shadow that is sometimes human and sometimes not. Sometimes, Jason even hears the distant sound of a wolf howling, a rare thing to hear in the cities, even in the most populated urban areas where shapeshifters are common.

  
  


This constant worry finally prompts Jason to break his routine and make a move.

  
  


It’s a busy weekday evening when Jason boards the Gotham subway during the height of its rush. He doesn’t go home when he finishes buying the weekly groceries, carrying the paper bag awkwardly with his one good arm instead when he gets on the train. The train runs through to Gotham’s suburban areas, and there’s a long time the stranger can ride it with him. It’s hard to locate one’s stalking victim after they’ve boarded public transport, but if the stalker is who Jason thinks he is, he will find him.

  
  


It’s the only way Jason can think of to confront the bastard without getting himself murdered and left in a ditch.

  
  


Jason skips past paying by flipping over the ticket aisle when the subway security isn’t looking. It isn’t a minor feat to pull when one of your arms is in a cast and the other holds a bag of apples and milk. Still, Jason does it with a dexterity close to perfection and quickly yet quietly slips under the arms of business-suited passengers to get into the overly stuffed car, finding himself in a comfortable space facing a window.

  
  


The inside of the train is packed full of people. There’s not enough space for physical conflict, and it’s lit up with enough fluorescence to light the faces of most, if not all the passengers. This is probably the perfect setup for Jason to confirm his suspicions—if only the bastard is man enough to show.

  
  


The train drives on, stopping at the various stations as it leaves the city, its passengers diminish as they get off at their respective stops. The car is less and less stuffed, more spaces opening up for Jason to stand, giving his injured arm room to move around in. He shifts the bag of groceries in his good arm and redistributes his weight between his legs nervously, eyes staring intensely at the window ahead of him, the darkness in the tunnels making it a perfect mirror to peep at the people behind him.

  
  


There is an old man with a cane sitting close to the handrail snoring, an old-fashioned hat covering his eyes and most of his face. A woman with glasses sits a few seats beside him, reading a book. Before her is what looks like a college student with heavy-duty headphones on, tapping furiously away on his portable pad computer. There is a little girl and her mother sitting in the opposite seats, the child’s feet dangling over the edge. A businessman stands close to the sliding door with a suitcase, looking up at a billboard overhead that advertises chewing gums. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. None of the people here look like they have an agenda.

  
  


“Come out and show yourself, bastard,” Jason whispers under his breath, speaking through his teeth. “Are you too cowardly now to follow me?”

  
  


But the stalker isn’t here.

  
  


Eventually, Jason lets out a sigh, and his tensed-up shoulders fall. He takes his mind off of shifter-watching for a moment and peeks at his old beaten-up wristwatch, awkwardly staring at it past the bag still resting on his arm. It’s almost seven, and the rush is settling down. He should go home soon. He has dinner to cook and a dosed-up mother to take care of.

  
  


Jason lifts his head the moment the train stops as a few more passengers walk in, bringing in a new rush of air mixed with dirty perfumes and cigarette smoke. Jason’s eyes dart around, and his breath suddenly catches.

  
  


There he is. The stranger.

  
  


Jason remembers the black hair and the radiant, beautiful face. But it’s the blue eyes that stand out to him. Beautiful and glistening like the blues of the ocean, so calm and friendly to their exteriors, but with something dark hidden _underneath._

  
  


The stranger is looking straight at him as soon as he walks in. The young man is wearing a white sweater underneath a corduroy jacket where he places his hands in, accompanied by dark blue trousers. He sees Jason’s shocked face in the window’s reflection and beams up at him.

  
  


It’s almost like a casual hello to someone he knows, but it makes Jason shake with trepidation, his hands getting clammy with sweat. That familiar paranoia coming back to him again.

  
  


Jason shrinks into his red jacket, not taking his eyes off for a single moment.

  
  


The door slides close, and the train starts up again.

  
  


The ride is silent, the train quieter now most of the city folks have gotten off. Jason’s shoulders are tense, his palms clammy, and his arms are getting sore from having to carry the groceries. He doesn’t dare make a move, not even meeting the stranger’s eyes. He stands as the train drives on.

  
  


People are getting off one by one, leaving only him and the young man in the car. Jason briefly thinks about whether he should abort the mission and get off before the last passenger leaves. He’ll accept defeat and shamefully handle the title of a coward.

  
  


Maybe the man really _is_ friendly and the creepy gifts Jason got for the past few weeks were from another shapeshifter. Maybe it’s all in his head and there’s nothing ever wrong. But Jason can’t let it go. There’s a small voice in his head telling him his hunch is right. The man behind him is the stalker who’s been disturbing Jason’s life all along.

  
  


A warm hand placed on his shoulder finally jolts Jason back to reality. He jumps at the contact, and when he stares to inspect what’s behind him he realizes they are alone. The empty shell of a vehicle, a quiet, uncanny mausoleum that houses Jason and the mysterious stranger behind him. The man keeps his hand on Jason’s shoulder as he looks into Jason’s reflection, concern etched on his face.

  
  


Jason wants to shake him off, but his body is stiff with both fear and alert. His lips part ways to speak, but no sounds come out beyond a choked noise. In the window’s reflection, Jason’s eyes are wide. The stranger looks friendly, but a dark light flashes across his face as something a little more feral than human overtakes him, the hues of his irises shift.

  
  


And for a single moment, Jason recognizes a pair of familiar yellow eyes staring back at him.

  
  


The words come back to haunt Jason’s mind. _I remember that jacket anywhere, it sure is a_ memorable _shade of red. Where is your home, Little Red?_

  
  


Jason’s blood runs cold.

  
  


“Hey,” the shapeshifter says, his yellow eyes flashing as the hairs around his ears grow thicker by the second. His ears are changing shape a little themselves.

  
  


Jason freezes at the voice. It sounds so enticing, if not for the inhuman rumble coming out of his throat.

  
  


“Is everything okay, kid?” The stranger asks.

  
  


Jason can’t move. He can’t breathe. He almost can’t hear anything beyond his frantic heartbeat. Blood is coursing through his veins and a rush of adrenaline fills him. His limbs are tightening up like springs.

  
  


What could he possibly want? Jason thinks. What is there for a shapeshifter to take from a boy like him? There is nothing, and Jason can only think of so many things the stranger could want, almost none of which are pleasant.

  
  


There are rumors about shapeshifters, legends about their behaviors having connections to their designations. There is a part in every shapeshifter that is feral, that’s untamed, unbounded by societal laws. These traits are more prominent when one shifts to their animal form. It’s like their id completely taking the wheel, controlling the body and using it to chase after their most basic desires. When one turns, there is no saying what they can do.

  
  


_A memory flashes back. Jason was seeing white sparks in front of his eyes as claws had dug into his sides, drawing blood. The cackling of a spotted hyena in his ears, the transforming body of one of Catherine’s dealers, and the hard shape of his sex piercing Jason again and again-_

  
  


“You look troubled,” the young man’s voice brings Jason back, “did something happen?”

  
  


Jason blinks a few times, trying to clear his head but failing miserably at it.

  
  


He opens his mouth to speak, but words don’t come and his throat is making wet gurgling whimpers that betray his nervousness.

  
  


“It’s okay, kid,” the stranger says again, trying to make himself sound friendlier, to ease Jason’s nerves. “I just ran into you and recognized you by your jacket.”

  
  


A dip of the stranger’s chin tells Jason exactly what he means. Jason looks down and silently curses himself for wearing the same red hoodie that the guy said makes him more recognizable. It’s the only warm jacket lying around. It’s not like Jason has hundreds of outfits to choose from for autumn.

  
  


“I see your arm is in a cast,” the blue-eyed stranger motions at Jason’s cast with his chin—and, oh God, _does he ever shut up—_ “what happened to it?”

  
  


It takes Jason a few seconds to shake off his shock. Then he bares his teeth in a silent hiss, as a learned self-protecting response.

  
  


“What is to you?” He snaps. “I fell, okay?”

  
  


Any normal person would’ve back down, knowing their presence is not wanted. But the annoying stranger seems to not take notice of this at all (or he just knows Jason _so well_ that his explosive temper isn’t surprising to him in the slightest).

  
  


“That’s concerning,” the man answers, brows furrowed. “You should take some Tylenol. I can buy some for you if you want.”

  
  


“No thanks,” Jason coldly replies.

  
  


Why doesn’t he just say what he wants? Why won’t he just admit that he followed Jason here deliberately? That he’d been following him _everywhere?_ Who is this fucker, thinking he could just step into Jason’s life and mess everything up?

  
  


His life wasn’t great, but Jason had been doing okay before this guy showed up and made everything a mess. Why can’t he just leave Jason alone?

  
  


“I’m Dick,” the man blurts out, catching Jason off-guard.

  
  


Jason blinks, before finally cranking his neck to look.

  
  


The stranger drops his hand. The yellowness in his eyes has dissipated, his ears looking as human as anyone else Jason runs into on the streets. For a second, Jason almost questions whether what he saw in the window was just an illusion.

  
  


“What?” Jason asks.

  
  


“It’s my name,” Dick answers, smiling back at him, “can I know yours?”

  
  


“No,” Jason deadpans.

  
  


“Oh, but-”

  
  


“I don’t care who you are and I don’t want to know,” Jason says with his teeth bared, growling like a lost puppy trying to defend himself from the world, ignoring the slightly hurt look on Dick’s face. “And don’t act like you don’t know my name anyway,” he then says through a begrudging whisper.

  
  


Dick furrows his brows a little, and a more-than-awkward silence befalls them. Jason glares daggers at him, his shoulders tense and the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up with a sense of danger. He doesn’t back down. His ears are standing up and all his senses are fine-tuned to their highest capacities, awaiting any signs for the next train stop.

  
  


Dick seems to have figured out Jason’s plan. Even before the train slows down, before Jason’s eyes unconsciously darts towards the door, his expression relaxes into an exasperated one, and sighs.

  
  


Dick doesn’t stop him when the train dings and the mechanical sound of metal barriers sliding open to make way for underground echoes. He steps aside to allow Jason to pass, whispering to him as he does so, “See you around, Little Red.”

  
  


The tone is sexy and smooth, but Jason gets goosebumps from fear and a sense of threat.

  
  


He hastily steps onto the subway platform, hugs his bag of groceries close to his body, and he doesn’t stop running until he’s heard the doors closing again with a ring. Jason stares back, taking one last look at the stranger standing behind the windows as the train drives away.

  
  


There’s an unfamiliar feeling in Jason’s heart, but he suppresses it. He waits till the train has passed through the station before climbing up the stairs again.

  
  


Just because Dick offered his name doesn’t make him any less of a stranger.

  
  
  



End file.
